CW: violence and suicide

All Children Eat Their Mothers

It starts in the womb, then moves to the tit, of course, and only continues from there.

I am constantly taking small bites of my mother. Every time she tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear, I sink my teeth into the bones of her hand, before pulling the lock loose against my face again.

When she stands at the door with her purse strung over her arm, telling the new babysitter what to feed me and when to tuck me in, I gnaw at the soft flesh of her middle. She smooths back my hair and says, Ok, sweet girl. Be good and eat your supper for the sitter. But I’m already full. I sneak one more nibble before she’s out the door.

At the doctor’s office, I tell him my stomach aches. He asks me to point to where it hurts. I point to my mother. They both laugh. I don’t.

I Saw A Man Kill Himself

I saw a man jump clear off a building. Make a bright red splatter of himself on the sidewalk below. I should have seen it coming, but still it surprised me.

I was walking my dog down a typically uncrowded street in Chinatown. A private treasure of ours. A secret pleasure. I should have known something was strange when I saw a group of old ladies gathered on the sidewalk, red plastic shopping bags dangling in their hands, their necks all craning upwards at the roof of an apartment building.

Before I had a moment to join their gaze, a man jumped to his end at their feet. The ladies screamed in a high-pitched chorus. I froze with my dog by my side. I should have tried to help him, seen if there was anything that could be done. Instead, I stared at the body. Watched the blood form a slowly expanding, darkening pool. The color grew deeper as the pool grew wider. The ladies backed away, still screaming, some crying.

Later that night, trying to sleep in my bed, my dog curled up by my side, I thought of the man’s blood again. I thought of my own blood the same color, inside my body.  Wondered about the pool it would build around me if I jumped off my own building. Wondered who would take care of my dog.

Born and raised in Palisades, NY, Mea Cohen is a writer based in New York City. Her work has previously appeared in West Trade Review, The Gordon Square Review, OPEN: Journal of Arts and Letters, and more. She earned an MFA in creative writing and literature from Stony Brook University, where she was a Contributing Editor for The Southampton Review. After working in the publishing industry for companies such as the David Black Literary Agency, Trident Media Group, and Audible, she is now Founder and Editor in Chief for The Palisades Review and a Partnership Manager at Stitcher.